White Tank Top
by Bailadora
Summary: The first time she wore that shirt they'd ended up naked on the floor in her living room. Now she's wearing it again. BB


She was wearing it again. That white tank top.

He shuddered, remembering the first time he'd seen her wearing it. She'd had a bra on then, but the clingy fabric had still hugged her curves quite nicely.

But now, though, now she was wearing that sinful shirt to bed. With him.

Her breasts swayed as she pulled back the covers, her taut nipples painfully obvious underneath the flimsy white fabric.

From his own half of the bed he watched her, his head propped up on one hand. Her hair fell in gentle waves over her shoulders and even in this dark room lit only by the moon, he was able to see the intelligence in her piercing blue eyes.

She bent towards him, fluffing her pillow and giving him and eyeful of cleavage. He imagined he was standing behind her, her pert ass pointing into the air, her plain black panties a sharp contrast to her creamy white legs.

A sigh escaped his lips.

Finally, she slipped gracefully into bed, her bare leg brushing against his in the process. Seven months of sharing a bed with her and he still got the chills every time they touched.

She rolled closer, pressing up against him and he closed his eyes and breathed her in. Her hair smelled flowery, recently shampooed with something out of a pink bottle. The rest of her was strictly Temperance, a light fragrance he just couldn't get enough of.

If it was possible, she cuddled even closer. He kissed her forehead and gently ran his fingers through her hair, something she'd only recently allowed him to do.

His thoughts flicked back to a night a little more than half a year ago. A night when, it was possible they'd had too much to drink and there'd been a few too many pauses in the conversation where they had been left staring silently into each other's eyes. And instead of looking away and changing the subject like he had so many times before, he'd leaned in that extra two inches and kissed her.

Booth snaked an arm around Temperance, his fingers splayed across her stomach, thanking God for scotch and testosterone.

_It was raining as Booth knocked on her door. He could hear it pounding outside her building and his hair and jacket bore the effects of the giant raindrops. In one had he held a bottle of liquor, already a glass or two short of full. In the other hand was a bouquet of daffodils._

_He knew he'd been undeniably cranky that day, but who wouldn't be when faced with two dead teenage girls murdered by their own father? Not to mention the Mount Everest-sized pile of paperwork accumulating on his desk. His partner had used a few of those fancy doctor words that he didn't understand and he'd lost his temper. Sharp words were been spoken in the form of him telling her that __only people who couldn't cope with the struggles of daily life used that large of a vocabulary. She retaliated, smartly pointing out that he was having his own daily living problems. His socks were two different colors—something he hadn't done on purpose—and there was a stain on his brand-new shirt._

_That was the last straw. The pinkish-orange stain was from one of the victims. Zach had pointed out an abnormality in the bones and Booth, wanting to impress his partner with a few accurate scientific facts and large words of his own, leaned in for a closer look. _

_At the mention of the stain he'd snapped and left her office, a broken look in her eyes. Now, a few hours later, he was feeling sorry. _

Temperance squirmed in his arms, ridding herself of her panties. Booth buried his head in her neck and breathed in deeply.

_He could smell the fresh scent of rain on his jacket when she opened the door. The expression on her face worried him. A fierce determination in the set of her lips made him wonder if he was going to be allowed inside._

_Plastering on the best charm smile he could muster, he offered the yellow flowers, which, even though they had been held tightly to his chest, were still a little soggy. She took them but remained silhouetted in the doorway, staring pointedly at the bottle of scotch in his other hand. With a sheepish grin he held it out to her and finally was invited inside._

_He followed her, admiring her from behind. A white tank top exhibited her toned shoulders and black bra, which was clearly visible through the fabric. Tight black shorts and a sloppy ponytail completed the ensemble. Her hips swayed slightly as she walked and Booth imagined touching her there, dictating their pace as she straddled him with naked legs._

_He had fantasies like that about his partner often and no longer felt the need to scold himself or push them from his mind; he learned to live with them as a fact of life. Even now he was wondering what her breasts would feel like cupped in his hands._

_It was awkward at first, each of them moving carefully around the other, the harsh words spoken earlier still hanging between them. Booth waited while Temperance found a vase, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wondering what to say. Maybe if he stopped thinking about shoving her onto the kitchen table and ripping off her clothes he would be able to come up with something relatively humorous to say._

"_I'm sorry," he began lamely, thoughts of the two of them going at it against the refrigerator still swirling around his head. _

_She poured two glasses and handed one to him, then turned to arrange the flowers. "For telling me that my large vocabulary overwhelms you?" she asked, leaning forward to push the vase into the middle of the table. The tank top was barely enough to keep her breasts a mere fantasy._

_Now it was Booth's turn to shrug. He certainly hadn't stated it in such a polite way, but if that's what she wanted to believe it was fine with him._

_Grabbing her glass, she headed into the living room. Booth followed, mind still trying to find alternate ways to deal with that white tank top._

She slipped her icy cold hands under his shirt. Shivers ran up the length of his spine and his blood went rushing in a totally different direction.

_They sat side by side on the floor, backs against the couch, shoulders touching. Booth carefully monitored how much he drank; Temperance was also still sipping from her first glass. He didn't want to say anything he'd regret, especially if she wasn't drunk enough to forget about it the next morning._

_Besides, if he ever _was _going to tell her how he felt, he wanted to be sincere about it._

_They talked about small things, Parker's new 'girlfriend' and a painting Angela entered in a national competition. Every time Temperance opened her mouth, Booth found himself closer and closer to lowering his own, closer to brushing his lips against hers. Everything she said took on a whole new meaning— a dirty, perverse one. Unable to stop himself, he shifted so that their thighs touched. Yet another spark lighted in his groin and he almost reached out and touched her._

"_So, you're not mad?" he choked out, a useless attempted to get his mind out of the gutter._

"_Of course not," she answered. "It takes a lot more than the truth to upset me. Plus, know I know what to get you for Christmas." Her eyes glittered playfully._

She looked up at him, eyes sparkling with lust. Her lips trailed kisses up and down his neck while one hand tugged at his boxers and the other explored his chest.

"_What's that?" he asked._

"_A dictionary."_

_He groaned. "Good thing Christmas is four months away. Maybe there's still time to convince you that I need something more sentimental than a dictionary."_

_She laughed her beautiful, throaty, sexy laugh and he was gone again._

_Not much more was said but each time that Temperance did speak, he was pulled away from his fantasies into something even better: an evening spent alone with her. _

_Booth wasn't quite sure how long it took for them to run out of things to say, but when they did they resorted to simply staring at each other, something they'd done plenty of times before but never for this length of time._

She was staring at him now, a look of pure mischief in her eyes. Her cold fingers had closed around his erection and she was waiting to hear him beg for what came next.

_He studied her familiar face, the curve of her jaw, the slope of her nose, the way her hair was escaping her pony._

_A flush spread up her cheeks under his careful scrutiny._

_That brief glimpse of self-consciousness was what did it. Slowly he leaned in, hands finally resting on her thighs. Her eyes widened as their lips brushed together, barely a whisper of a touch. _

_It wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough, but Booth began to pull back._

_Before he realized what was happening, Temperance was winding her fingers through his hair and tugging him down on her. Their lips crashed together, a frenzy of consuming kisses that could never possibly satisfy his hunger._

She smiled seductively and slowly ran a finger down his length. Booth flipped them over and without prelude, thrust deeply inside her. He claimed her almost savagely, but even as he pounded farther and harder into her she laughed huskily in his ear.

_He lowered them so she lay on the floor with him pressing down on top of her. The shorts were the first to go. She began to pull off the tank, but he grabbed her wrists and with a knowing look, she stopped._

_He slipped it up an inch at a time, pausing to devour each bit of her. To the right of her bellybutton he found a crescent-shaped scar, its white surface raised against her pale skin. He found the imperfection oddly beautiful and pressed his lips to it. She moaned softly and he continued his journey almost reverently. He revealed more and more skin, touching his lips to all of it. At last the shirt was slipped over her head, leaving her beneath him in nothing but black lace._

_She tilted her chin. It was enough to tell him that tonight they would not stop here. He rushed to unbuckle his belt and take off his own clothing. When he looked down at her his breath caught in his throat._

_The bra and panties had vanished._

_He murmured her name and slowly lowered himself on top of her._

It wasn't until after they came crashing down from their insurmountable highs that he took the time to love her properly.

The tank top was inched up in the same fashion, and he peppered her with kisses. He found the scar that he'd since learned was a souvenir from tree climbing with Russ and ran a finger over the raised edge. Then he kissed the freckle on her left breast, the same one he'd found later the night it had all began.

She was moaning now, her own game turned against her. The sounds coming from her throat would have been enough to kill any man, Booth included. He thumbed her pebbled nipple, then took it in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it.

His fingers delved into her folds and she arched against him, trying to get him in farther. Stroking her clit, he closed his eyes and listened to her hitched breathing, his erection throbbing. He removed his fingers even as she was bucking against his hand, which elicited a whimper from her lips. A line of kisses was trailed up her navel and between her breasts to her collarbone where he sucked at her sweet spot. He placed one last kiss behind at the pulse point behind her ear and finally touched his lips to hers.

At once he was reminded of that first kiss. They were all like that, sweet and tender but hungry and overwhelming too; however now the hesitancy was gone and they could explore each other easily. As their lips brushed together he gently entered her, gradually filling her. He dictated their pace, just as he had that night and so many nights since.

But even though he had control tonight, he knew who was really in charge in this relationship.

One white tank top had proven it to him.

_A/N: Please review._


End file.
